Page 63 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
A soft knock broke the silence. Then her voice, hesitant. “Richard?”
He didn’t look up.
“I… I wanted to see if ye were all right. And if Lydia?—”
“She’s asleep,” he cut in, his voice measured but cool.
The door creaked open further, and she stepped into the room. She lingered in the shadows near the hearth, her presence as steadying as it was unsettling.
“I feel responsible too,” Catriona said at last, her tone quiet but clear. “If we hadnae been?—”
“Don’t,” he said, sharper than he intended. He turned, and the look in his eyes stopped her mid-step. “I should have been watching her. She was left in my care first. That responsibility is mine alone.”
Her jaw tightened, but she held his gaze. “And yet it wasnae only yerself who acted on impulse. I kent the risk. I kissed ye back. Ye werenae the only one who forgot the world for a moment.”
He didn’t argue—but neither did he soften. “I had no right to forget,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “She needed me, and I wasn’t there. Because I let myself be distracted.”
Catriona took a measured step forward, her voice steady. “She’s safe now, Richard. Shaken, aye, but nae harm came to her. We both made a mistake. We let our guard down—but we willnae do it. That’s what matters.”
His eyes flicked to her, “But what if we hadn’t? What if something had happened to her while we?—”
She didn’t flinch. “But it didnae. Ye can torment yerself with hypotheses, but they willnae change anythin’. We’ve learned from it. We’ll be better.”
A silence stretched between them. Then, he exhaled, slow and tight.
“This… whatever has begun between us,” he said carefully, “it’s become a distraction. I can’t afford it.”
She took another step toward him. “A distraction?”
“I think whatever lies between us is a complication I cannot afford.”
Her brows drew together. “You cannae mean that.”
Richard didn’t answer right away. The silence he offered felt heavier than any denial.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “I think our priority must be Lydia. Nothing else. Not feelings. Not—this. Nothing that might shift our focus from her care.”
“And what if feelin’s help rather than hinder? What if they make us better, stronger—for her?”
He met her gaze then, his own cool and unwavering. “Or what if they cloud our judgment again? I can’t afford that risk. She deserves more.”
A long breath left her lungs. “So ye’re shuttin’ the door. Because of one mistake.”
“I’m trying to keep it from locking behind us,” he said. “Before one of us makes a mistake. Before we do something we cannot undo.”
Catriona’s lips parted, but no words came.
“I see,” she said after a moment. Her voice was calm, but it carried the unmistakable edge of pain. “I shall leave ye to yer own devices from now on, Yer Grace.”
“Catriona—”
“Nae. Ye’ve made yerself clear. This was a distraction, nothing more.” She turned for the door, her spine straight, her shoulders taut with unshed anger. “Thank ye for the clarification, Yer Grace.”
The door closed softly behind her. Not a slam. Not a storm.
Just a quiet severing—quiet, and all the more final for it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
